Tragedy and Loss, Part 2: But Take Heart

“But take heart…”

“But,” the same Proverb continues… But… But wait, the author reminds us. I know the tragedy and loss come fast and hit us hard. I know we have so many moments of rejection and pain, of abuse and trauma. I know we have been pummeled with loss and heartache, wave after wave, hit after hit.  But… 

Before we read the rest of the Proverb, let’s first return back to Jesus.  He also has a “but…” in His message to us about trouble.  

“But,” he says (and I can imagine a pregnant pause).

“But take heart…”

Okay, let’s be honest here. Jesus just described the ails of the world and the profound tragedy of life in a single word, “trouble” – itself maybe a bit of an underwhelming word to describe the world we find ourselves in. And here He promises through a linguistic turn-of-focus some sort of remedy for this problem, a prescription for the condition of the human soul.  Yes, Jesus, yes!  We’re ready for your answer for all of this tragedy! What is it, Jesus, what?

And His answer is simply, “take heart.” 

Take heart.

Take heart?

How does that strike you? Be honest. How does your heart respond to those two words, “take heart”? Does it rise as in a coming rescue, rejoicing that finally there is a tangible answer and hope to the despair we see around us and within us, like the wave of relief we find when the hero comes riding in just in the nick of time in our favorite stories?  Or does it offer a half-smile, a polite, “Gee, thanks Jesus,” with a simple shrug in response?

If you’re me, the offer to “take heart” from Jesus sounds more like a euphemism for “don’t worry about it,” than it does a promise of restoration for brokenness and a healing for wounds, a kind of pedantic dismissal of the fatal cut that plagues everyone I know. I want to ask, “Jesus, uh… do you actually see what’s going on around us here?”

I think He does. I think His offer to “take heart” is much, much more than we typically imagine.

The exhortation in Greek can be understood as being bolstered, warmed up, emboldened by an inward strength. Jesus uses this word several times in the gospels, often just before He brings healing and restoration to someone’s injury or sickness. He says this to the crippled man who was brought before Jesus by some friends, just before He tells the man “Get up..” (Matthew 9:1-7). He uses the same word to the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, again, just before he heals her (v. 18-22). He uses the word when speaking to the disciples from the midst of the storm on the Sea of Galilee just before inviting Peter to walk with Him on the water (and soon thereafter saving Peter from drowning and calming the storm entirely) (Matthew 14:27-31). Another time, Jesus uses the same word just before healing the blind man Bartimaeus. Are you getting the picture, the theme? Repeatedly, Jesus invites His friends to “take heart,” to be soul-buttressed, because He’s about to give us back what was lost. The social outcasts, the left behind, the forgotten, the hurting, the isolated. Understand, the people Jesus healed of broken bodies and blind eyes didn’t just limp away or have to go get prescription glasses. They were restored. What had been lost was returned to them. They were returned to their families and their friends. All things, you might say, were made new for them. 

They got it all back.

“A longing fulfilled,” finishes the Proverb, “is a tree of life.”

“I have overcome the world…”

That sounds good, right? The lame can walk, the blind can see, people saved from the brink of drowning? You could see how the author of Proverbs poetically described those longings fulfilled in these people “a tree of life.”

Who wouldn’t want that? Sure, of course we would. But how do we find ourselves in these stories? How do we find our own hearts buttressed, rescued? What does “take heart” mean for us?

Jesus gives us a five-word single answer, tacked onto the end of the sentence, five words that set the earth back on its proper axis.

-Dr. Brian Fidler